I’ve told the preamble to Diane’s birching at some length and detail, from first meeting her to getting her home, tied naked over a bench, with a birch assembled with twigs from the local park.

I’ve been putting off telling the actual birching part of the story, because while what happens during a whipping is immensely intense as an experience, it tends to make poor literature. All too often it turns into something that looks like Victorian flagellation pornography, all onomatopoeia and exclamations.

Like this:

“SWISH-CRACK!! – Aiyee! Arrgh! Oh it is too much!

CRISH-SWACK!! – Oh, have pity! I shall die! Oh, mercy!

SWICK-CRASH! – Arrrh! Huuuuu!”

and so on.

So I’ll just report that I started Diane with about a dozen strokes, and she wriggled and coloured nicely under the birch.

Though I was turned on, and though she was a wet girl when I applied the finger test, I realised that I was going to have to apply the birch much harder if I wanted to break her skin.

So I doubled the strength of the strokes. I had been swinging the birch like a cane, but I began to use it more as a whip, with a twist of the wrist just before the impact, so that the twigs lashed across her buttocks and thighs at very high speed. After a dozen in that style, Diane was writhing in pain. She was weeping, and she wailed that it really hurt. I believed her. And I continued, just as hard.

After thirty hard strokes she was wailing more or less continuously. It wasn’t really loud enough to wake the neighbours or have the cops breaking in the door, but her howls did fill the room. I loved the way she sounded: it was similar to the noises she made when she came.

Still, although I was enjoying myself, I had to watch her carefully. She wasn’t going to use the safeword, but I was still worried about the strokes being too hard. I prefer knowing for certain that the submissive is safe, physically and emotionally, but I couldn’t be so sure in this situation. But the truth is that as her whipping got harder I got more focussed on her safety than on the things I usually enjoy. I was less comfortable and my cock got softer.

By the time I was onto Diane’s fortieth stroke, it was clear to me that all those stories I’d read about birchings in which the blood flows like wine, and the twigs spatter about the room, were fiction. Either that, or the Victorians and the other people who wrote birching porn were absolute maniacs. I was birching Diane very hard, and though she was obviously a sore and happy girl, she wasn’t bleeding.

So I let the birch wrap round her hips and the sides of her thighs. I generally try to avoid that, because the part of any instrument that lands on the further side of the target will hit the hips or thighs at ten or twenty times the force and speed of the part of the instrument that hits buttocks or thighs directly.

Finally, after delivering a series of lashes in which I left six inches or so of the tips of the birch to slash onto the skin on the further side of her buttocks, I got a yowl from Diane, and, at last, a couple of spots of blood on her hip. One of them trickled.

“So,” I said, as if I’d been lusting for that, “you vampires do bleed.” (I’d thought about that line. It sounded ridiculous to me, but I guessed that she’d like to hear it.) I scooped up a smear of her blood with my index finger and held it to her mouth for her to lick. She was joyous.

The act of collecting that spot of blood revealed that the cut was tiny, less than a paper cut and probably not as painful. Blood refilled the tiny gap in her skin, but didn’t well up or overflow. The trickle stopped.

So I gave her another dozen, as hard as I could, because I knew Diane was deep in subspace, and close to coming. I got a few more scratches and a bit more blood – enough to keep Diane happy, since I threw in a lot of rhetoric about how the blood was flowing down her thighs. It wasn’t, but I didn’t let her see whether that was true or not.

When I put the birch down and gave her three fingers in her cunt, it took her about twenty seconds to her first orgasm, and that orgasm, or the series of them, went on for a couple of minutes.

But there’s a psychological limit to how hard most people can whip another person. I’d reached mine. We’d also got close to the physical limit of what that birch could do. I’d swung it hard and fast, and I didn’t see how that birch could land much harder.

I had a happy vampire girl, who wanted another hard birching straight away. (I told her she didn’t deserve it.) She wanted more. Me, I’d had an interesting time and parts of it had been hot, but I wanted less.

It had been an experience and I like experience, in general. And I’d delivered something that Diane had wanted. A dom should try to deliver what a submissive wants,though we like to do it in a round-about way so she doesn’t feel in control.

Diane had waited long enough. She was tied securely, I’d warmed up her bottom and thighs with the strap. She was psychologically ready. There was only one person in the room who wasn’t ready. But I’d procrastinated enough.

I picked up the birch and held the twigs to Diane’s mouth. You can’t kiss a birch the way you kiss a strap or a cane, but she nuzzled amongst the twigs in a kissy way.

I said, “Good. Diane, you don’t have to count the strokes. You can cry out if you like. I don’t mind the neighbours knowing you’re getting a whipping. It’s up to you whether you mind.”

“Uh.”

“And if you run into problems, remember to say Alucard.”

“I won’t say it.”

“Well, it’s there if you want it. Turn your head and look at me.”

Diane turned her face so her left cheek rested on the blanket. Her eyes followed my every move.

I gave her a show, raising the birch above my shoulder, holding it for a few seconds. She kept her face blank, but I got alarm when I raised myself on tip-toes. Then I lashed it down.

There was a moment, while the girl was getting her breath back after I’d pulled my cock out of her throat, in which I had a half-witted thought: “She choked on my cock? Just my cock? Amazing! I must be enormous.” So doms can be idiots, or at least I can.

How may this cutaway diagram serve you, Master?

The choking incident surprised me, though. I’ve never had anything like that happen before. Not even when I’m being deep-throated. I didn’t really think it was possible.

It must have been the angle. I was standing while she knelt, and I was thrusting down into her throat. That somehow blocked her oesophagus and the trachea at once. It was the angle more than the depth: she wasn’t deep-throating when it happened.

Anyway, choking on a cock, or choking a girl with your cock, is easier than you might think.

So I pushed her down onto the bed, spread and lifted her thighs, and did her. She enjoyed this, but she wasn’t reacting with the enthusiasm I’d hoped for. She wasn’t happy yet, or relaxed.

I was still seeking her forgiveness, and that was what I was doing wrong. It put her in charge, where she didn’t want to be. So I kissed her cunt goodbye, for now, and rolled onto my back. pulling her with me.

We finished with her face down across my lap. There was her ass, right where my hand was. I smacked it, medium hard.

After a dozen spanks her body relaxed, but she was still frowning. I whispered, “no, this is a good girl spanking. You’ve been good. But it’s going to hurt you.” She nodded. The frown was gone.

There were no more judgements, and everything was right. I spanked her for about half an hour, while she sighed, and occasionally cried out, and wiggled happily. Then all was well.

So she and I are holding each other, after she had her breath back, but things are wrong.

I’m supposed to be in charge. Things are right when I judge her conduct, and decide whether she needs reward or punishment, and decide when she’s forgiven. She likes to be a little afraid of me, when I judge her. She’s proud that discipline, for her, is very strict. I don’t let disobedience slip, and when I cane her, I cane hard. Though the pain turns her on, my little masochist, she still fears it.

But it’s sexy and fun fearing me because I’m in charge. Being afraid because I’m choking her and I don’t even realise: that’s not fun. So at this moment I’m judging myself, not her, and I’m not impressed.

She knew I felt bad, and tried to reassure me. And though that was nice and I appreciated it, I didn’t want her to feel that she had to look after me.

So, I decided, I’d drag her to bed and apply the kiss of life to her cunt. That should cheer her up.

I was still half hard, so there was a sense in which my cock felt weightier, more substantial, than if i’d been fully erect. An erect cock has no weight; it’s self-supporting, and although it has mass it bobs about like a balloon. I felt good, and comfortable, sliding down her throat, knowing that she’d feel me growing fully hard in her mouth, and that this would turn her on.

But after perhaps a minute she made to pull back. She’d done that the previous time she’d sucked my cock. Her jaw got tired, and she sometimes tried to rest and take a little less of me . But I wasn’t in the mood to allow her to be half-hearted, so I tightened my grip on her hair, pulled her mouth forward, and thrust deeper. Then, sighing happily, I started to move gently, fucking her mouth.

This happened twice more over the next couple of minutes, and the second time I took my belt off, enjoying the recognition in her eyes at that gesture, and gave her bottom six smart whacks. Then I put the belt round the back of her neck, and used it to keep her serving, unable to back away.

I was sure that she was feeling properly controlled. But then she made a gesture I hadn’t seen before. She held her hands up in the air, half-closed, her wrists flapping. I watched. It seemed very feminine, and very helpless.

Only then, at last, the light went on in my brain, and I pulled out of her mouth quickly. She sucked in air. Oh, I realised, far too late; she couldn’t breath.

I’d never choked a woman before, in fellatio or in any other way. I don’t like breath play. I don’t like the risk, and I don’t like the symbolism of it.

So I helped her up. I kissed her. I apologised. I told her how I’d misread the way she’d tried to pull back. She said she’d known why I’d done that. In our previous session, I’d let her rest her jaw when she sucked my cock, but I’d told her that next time I wouldn’t be so lenient. I’d said that she had to focus on my pleasure and not her comfort. So she knew what I thought was happening.

I said if anything like that happened again, where she couldn’t speak, then she should just hit the side of my knee. That’d count as a safe word. I apologised for not having thought of that before.

So she was in my arms, and holding me back while I held her. I was forgiven, more or less. But I’d frightened her, and there were tears in her eyes.

A woman came to visit me. I’d given her instructions about what she had to do, once she’d knocked on my door.

My neighbourhood is the sort of place where no-one is likely to notice a woman undress at someone’s front door and wait naked on her knees to be invited in. There aren’t many people around. And if someone did notice they’d be neither shocked nor dangerous. I live in the country, but the people around here tend to be artists/writers/musicians, etc, rather than farmers.

Although no-one would see my naked, kneeling girl,her or care if they did, I hurried when I heard her knock. I wanted her. There was lust between us. Just thinking of my name made her wet. I knew that because she told me, and I knew it was true because it only took her name, or the thought of any detail of her body or how she moved or spoke, to make me hard.

So I answered the door, and although she lowered her head to kiss my shoes, which I usually liked to watch, I grabbed a swatch of her hair and pulled her up so she could take my cock in her mouth.

The first time I saw an anal hook I was repelled. It’s a cold hard thing to put in a soft and vulnerable part of a woman’s body. That seemed wrong. Anal sex is intimate. Especially in dominance and submission.

Also, I wasn’t sure that I’d want a woman to be as unable to move – at least move her ass – as an anal hook will make her.

I had preferred a submissive woman to keep her ass where I tell her because she chooses to obey me. Not because she can’t choose. Not because she’s got a hook in her ass.

But … it’s a good piece of bling. In fact it’s quite elegant, isn’t it?

But I didn’t pick up the birch. I took my belt off and folded it, then held it to Diane’s mouth. She kissed it, but frowned, puzzled. “To warm you up before I birch you.”

“I’m already warm!”

“It’s better for you. Are you in a good position to argue with me?”

“No. Sorry.”

I straightened up quickly and lashed the belt down, hard, onto her right thigh, on taut skin a couple of inches above the knee. It sounded like a starter’s gun, and a bright red band formed almost immediately. Diane writhed, as far as the rope would allow, and howled shrilly. The neighbours would have had to be listening to pay it much attention, but she was in good voice. If I wanted to make her serenade the whole street, she would, with just a few more strokes like that.

I began to strap Diane’s bottom and the plumpest part of her thighs just below the crease. I applied the belt leisurely, swinging its looped weight down onto her with an overarm stroke every twenty seconds or so. I kept the strokes hard but not as hard as the one I’d placed on her lower thigh. Diane relaxed, happy enough to be belted, while her bottom glowed pink, then red.

After twenty-five strokes she was beautifully and brightly red, her skin hot to the touch, and – when I applied the high-speed finger test to her cunt – sweetly, slickly wet.

I smacked the belt down between her thighs, to catch meatily against her opened cunt. Diane was silent, as she had been for the other strokes to her bottom. But her mouth formed an O and she held her hips up, hoping for another.

I stepped in front of her so she could see me smile at her, and watch me put the belt back on. “What do you say?”

“Sir! Thank you, Sir. Thank you for, um, warming my bottom, Sir.”

I reached down and caressed her hair, then put the fingers of my left hand into her mouth, as a reward. Diane sucked earnestly, running her tongue along each fingertip in turn.

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